CHAPTER XXXVII EVARNE FIGHTS FOR MORE THAN LIFE The silence was intense and oppressive; time dragged painfully; every minute was fraught with an entire round of mingled emotions. Fear and trembling apprehension alternated with eager impatience; stem determination, coupled with either forced or spontaneous hope, would be followed by a crushing sense of foregone failure and lack of self-confidence. After a while this ceaseless ebullition of feeling brought on actual physical fatigue, and Evarne leant back in her chair with a growing sense of exhaustion. Suddenly a sharp, loud knock broke the silence. Although she had been expecting this--listening and waiting for it--the sound came finally as a blow dealt her highly-strung nerves. She gave a painful start, a gasp, and felt the hot blood surge to her head. She sprang to her feet at once, but then stood motionless. Now that Morris Kenyon was actually upon her doorstep, every moment that kept him from crossing the threshold seemed a priceless respite. She believed that she remained as if spellbound for many minutes, but really only a brief time passed before she aroused herself and went to the front door. With apparent indifference she flung it half open, and at once returned to sink into her favourite big arm-chair, leaving Morris to enter, close the front door, and conduct himself along the hall. The light streaming from out the one room into the darkness served as a guide, and in a minute she heard his advancing footsteps come to a standstill. She neither spoke nor looked up, but remained impassive, her eyes fixed on the beloved ring that sparkled upon her third finger. Morris seemed well content to stand for a while in the doorway, surveying her with a keen scrutiny. Then he studied the surroundings, rapidly but with considerable interest; glanced over his shoulder into the dense blackness that enveloped the remainder of the house; listened a moment to the heavy stillness that held sway; then entered the room and closed the door, pausing calmly to admire the crimson velvet portière, on which was some of Evarne's exquisite embroidery. After laying down his stick and hat on a little table and leisurely removing his gloves, he drew up a chair close to his hostess, sat down, and waited silently until she should choose to speak. He was in evening dress, and though in the abstract there was nothing to be surprised at in this sartorial detail, Evarne found it inexplicably disconcerting. Without raising her eyelids she contrived to study him through her long lashes. He was indeed dignified and imposing; he had lost none of his good looks; but the lines of his mouth seemed even sterner, more inflexible than of yore. Past memories rushed upon her mind. The leading events and many apparently trifling details that had gone towards making up nigh three years of her life passed now in rapid progression before her mind's eye.